


how have you been, my prince

by chewhy



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Bullying, Fluff and Angst, High School, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Pretty Boy Idol Hyunjin, Underground Rapper Changbin, show me the money, underground rapper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewhy/pseuds/chewhy
Summary: just your atypical idol and underground rapper falling in love au





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disstrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disstrack/gifts), [cherryjaem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryjaem/gifts).



> happy (belated) birthday jinn!! i hope you enjoy the mess that i threw together~
> 
> p.s. if you want to see a hasty moodboard i put together [here](http://busanjeongin.tumblr.com/post/174032715160/how-have-you-been-my-prince-submit-a-fic)

FOR JINN

 

He thinks that maybe things should be the other way around. Maybe it should be himself, the big bad underground rapper, that hates pretty boy idols who found success so easily with their God-given genetics. 

 

But no, Hyunjin would laugh if Changbin ever tried to call himself big or bad in any way. He’d laugh in that cruel, cruel way, the fake reaction laugh that Changbin sees every day on the televisions, the laugh that’s starting to break Changbin’s heart rather than melt it. 

 

—

 

Changbin has never been ashamed of being gay. He’s not ashamed of finding Hyunjin attractive, because he knows it isn’t a fault to love beautiful things. It’s not a flaw, but if it were, it would be a sin that everybody in this god damn world must atone for. 

 

It’s just that he’s ashamed of failure, and in this society, gay means failure. It’s the underground, though, so really nobody cares that he doesn’t change the pronouns in songs, that his lyrics always wax about “that person” or “that being” with never a specific description, except maybe strong hands and short hair that allude to the fact that he’ll never settle down and marry, at least not while he’s still under the jurisdiction of the South Korean government. 

 

So, it wasn’t an issue until it was. Until he signed with a label so small and so tiny and insignificant he thought it would really make no difference except that he could use the studio equipment instead of filching off of his friends’ basements, and he’s sometimes going to go on TV per their request, but he’s still chugging along, making his own music, and things are working just fine. But then, one day, they ask him to go on this show. And he’s excited because as much as suffering underground is cool and respected, at the end of the day they all want exposure because exposure means more listeners and they’re here to get out their music. 

 

Changbin asks, “What show?” and they tell him, it’s, no, oh god, no, it’s a rap survival show. And yeah, it’s Show Me the Money. They all know it, and they know it’s only for rookies with ambition or veterans who are arrogant enough to believe they can win the money one step in and one step out. But Changbin isn’t a fool. He’s no rookie but he sure as hell isn’t arrogant enough to think that he’ll get away unscathed, without being touched and manipulated by the production. There’s a reason he started out underground, and it’s not because his nose is too long and his chin a little too square. 

 

But he’s signed the contract and a deal is a deal so he scoots onto a subway because the company is too small to provide transport to those who haven’t proven themselves yet and makes his way down to the auditions. 

 

At the location, he signs up quietly, ducks his head moodily and mutters his name when a camera points his way and makes his way to the audition center. There are tons of people around, and while some are making friends, Changbin doesn’t bother. He’s here to make a name, not connections. The kid beside him seems to agree as he’s got his face wrapped up behind a mask and is standing as still as a statue. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Changbin sees that he’s chiseled like one, too, under that bucket hat and face mask with thick, charming brows and large but sharp eyes. They make eye contact and Changbin finds himself looking away first. 

 

Soon, it’s their turn and when the judges come up to him, he shakes their hands, raps one of his older, classic verses, and wins a necklace without much excitement or drama. The cameras move on, rather quickly at that, and that's when Changbin picks up on the clues and realizes the guy next to him must be something special. 

 

The contestant unhooks the mask, and the room seems to collectively take a breath because, like he said before, attraction to beauty is a collective flaw, not an individual one, and this man is nothing if not beautiful. Changbin figures that by the face and the fashion and the cameras, this guy has to be an idol or maybe even an actor, but he prays that he’s actually just an exceptionally good rapper and that’s why the cameras surround them. 

 

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, he gives a rather good performance, above average compared to most of the crowd. There’s a half a second of hesitation on the judges part that nobody at the scene notices but that Changbin knows will be amplified ten times over in the editing rooms at Mnet before finally the judge steps forward and pulls the necklace over the contestant’s head. 

 

As the cameras move away, on impulse Changbin moves forward to slap the kid’s back. “Hey, congratulations. That was a good verse,” he says, hand held out, palm open in an invitation. 

 

There’s another moment of hesitation, this one just a little bit longer and more sincere than the judges before the guy grabs Changbin’s hand. “Thanks. I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.”

 

“Seo Changbin. I’ll see you around.”

 

It isn’t until later that Changbin remembers, or maybe he learns, that you can be an idol _and_ good at rapping. 

 

—

 

They move on to round two, and like the pull of a magnet, Changbin finds himself drawn close to Hyunjin’s side again. He’s not going to lie and pretend that he didn’t go home and look up pictures of Hyunjin right away, find out random ass facts like his blood type and what kind of flowers he would give a girl on a date, but he’s also not naive enough to think that the cameras won’t pick up on this one-sided relationship and turn it into something more. 

 

The only thing is that it’ll have to wait until it gets to an editing room to see if it’ll be good or bad on Changbin’s part, since he’s done the calculations and seen how easily Hyunjin’s group gets first on Melon’s digital rankings, and knows that Mnet must have… let’s say “friendly relations” with Hyunjin’s company. 

 

“Hey, good to see you again,” Changbin says, starting out neutral. “You nervous?” he asks, tone of voice neither friendly nor antagonizing. 

 

Hyunjin looks at him, down at his name tag, then back up to his face. “Of course, but don’t tell,” he answers, a leisurely grin that says otherwise hooked up the right side of his face. Changbin notices then that the idol has a perfectly symmetrical face, except for that lopsided grin of his. 

 

They don’t talk again after that, but after Hyunjin enters and exits the second round rooms with his necklace still hooked around his neck, he makes eye contact with Changbin and shakes the chain at him with that same grin still on his face. 

 

When Changbin exists with a 3/4 pass, just a couple of seconds away from an all pass, he’s satisfied but not proud, and mostly just ready to go home. He doesn’t expect to find Hyunjin waiting for him on the other side of the door, fully having expected Hyunjin to have been rushed off to other schedules by this point. 

 

“Still here?” Changbin asks, walking over to the wall that Hyunjin leans against. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flips open the tab towards Hyunjin, “Want one?”

 

Hyunjin just shakes his head, pushing the pack away. “Those aren’t good for your lungs, you know. And it’s my day off.”

 

Changbin laughs, figuring that would have been the response anyway. “I know. I don’t smoke, I just keep it on hand for the seniors in the crowds I run in.” Folding the box away, he absentmindedly fingers the chain around his neck as he asks, “So, did your company force you here or are you trying to prove yourself as a rapper?”

 

Hyunjin hesitates, then seems to remember that they were both un-miced the minute they stepped out the doors and answers, “It was the company’s idea, but I saw it coming so I’m prepared.”

 

“Well,” Changbin says, pushing himself back upright. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve prepared.”

 

—

 

Later, as he watches himself on TV, he sees that all of his conversations with Hyunjin have aired, which essentially means that everything Changbin has said so far has made its way onto the air. At this point, some might say that Changbin did it on purpose, for the extra exposure, to wiggle his way into the hearts of Hwang Hyunjin’s fans, and if they poke and prod close enough to be suspicious that might be the answer he defaults to, but anybody that knows Changbin knows that at the end of the day, he falls fast and he falls hard for anybody with a charming enough smile. 

 

—

 

“Why did you choose me?” Changbin asks as they prepare for their 1 vs. 1 mission. Changbin isn’t too upset. As Hyunjin had said before, he saw it coming so he’s prepared. And when he says he’s prepared, it means that he’s polished his best verses but knows that the favor leans towards the surprisingly good but pretty idol and not the new face without a name on the scene. 

 

“I was supposed to.” The answer is straightforward and also expected. 

 

Changbin nods, “Okay. Well, let’s give them a duet to remember.”

 

“Not a battle?”

 

“Not a battle.”

 

They head up on stage and perform to an Illionaire track, and Changbin is a little blindsided when they tie, meaning they’ll have to prepare another stage on the spot. He didn’t think they would be that evenly matched, or that their battle would need that much drama, but he moves on with the flow. Hyunjin, on the other hand, seems to have seen it coming a little more as he doesn’t even mutter verses under his breath looking for the right one to fit the new track. 

 

He angles his head forward, indicating to Changbin that he can go first, and Changbin just spits what he can, and he knows it isn’t his best but he’s proud of what he made. 

 

Hyunjin, on the other hand, gives his all, and Changbin can’t help wonder, what makes one put forth so much desperation into a two-minute performance? 

 

Hyunjin wins easily, and Changbin gives the typical speech, “Go out there and win for my sake.”

 

Hyunjin just laughs and nods and unexpectedly pulls Changbin into a hug in front of the cameras. “I’ll see you around, hyung.”

 

So Changbin goes home, and maybe he’s got a blush on his cheeks and a new phone number in his pocket as he makes his way back on the subway. 

 

—

 

Changbin keeps an eye on the rest of the survival show, up until the point that Hyunjin gets eliminated. He makes it farther than expected for an idol rapper, but then again, Changbin thinks that by now, he should really discard those stereotypes and look forward without discretion. 

 

Once the show is over, Changbin texts Hyunjin, asking if he’s free to go out for lunch sometime, maybe.

 

He gets ignored. 

 

It hurts at first, but then he forgets about it, except maybe he writes a few songs here and there, songs that he won’t publish on more than his personal Soundcloud, and occasionally when he’s on a variety show on the few chances that his company gets their shit together he’ll answer the question, “What’s your ideal type?” with no more answer than, “Pretty lips.”

 

Maybe half a year later, Changbin is drunk and sentimental, and still not over a stupid crush, so he sends a voice clip of himself singing one of those private songs, and it gets left on read. After that, he gathers his shit together and focuses on his career moving forward. 

 

His songs climb up the chart, grazing into the top 100, and then the top 50. His sentimental songs seem to fare better publicly than his typical, stronger, more political raps, so he leaves those as b-side tracks for studio albums and changes some pronouns and hair lengths, describes delicate hands instead of sturdy ones, and releases singles left and right. He’s no longer SpearB the underground child rapper, he’s Seo Changbin, sentimental chart killer and he’s making a name for himself, dusting the rust off of his singing voice. 

 

His old, underground friends joke that he’s a sellout, and he laughs because it’s true, but it doesn’t stop them from asking for a feature on a track, or even the other way, to feature in one of his tracks. 

 

He’s finding success and he’s satisfied and content and peaceful, but he’s not happy. Maybe that’s why he’s so quick to pick up the phone when a name and a number that he’s long forgotten flashes across the screen. Or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t actually forgotten, and he signed away his pride when he signed his name on a renewal contract and chose this path. 

 

He doesn’t tell his friends because he knows they’ll say to look at the context of his success and he doesn’t tell his company managers because he knows they’ll say that he’s on the rise and he doesn’t have time to frolic around town with B-list celebrity idols, and he doesn’t tell his family because he doesn’t need them to look at him with another pinched smile as they throw more money at his career in hopes that he’ll remember to keep their company name out of the papers. 

 

Instead, he keeps his mouth shut but lips pliant as he makes midnight dashes to dimly lit restaurants and dark studio practice rooms, chasing love like he’s a child again, because as much as he loves music, music is an expression of his feelings, and he can’t make music if he doesn’t feel _more_. 

 

And so, somedays he hurries home from a gig in Hongdae to an apartment in Apgujeong because home isn’t the place he has the keys to; home is where the heart is. 

 

He flicks on the lights of a dark living room, toes off his shoes and sinks down into the couch, up against a warm body. “How have you been, Hyunjin, my prince?”

 

—

 

It’s been a year now, and Changbin is still too giddy and surprised that it’s lasted this long at all. People in the industry who care enough to know, know, and those that don’t, don’t bat an eyelash as they name each other as close friends, kindle a _bromance_ and pat each other’s butts jokingly, because what reason would they have to suspect?

 

There isn’t much reason to worry, at least, none that Changbin knows of. What he doesn’t account for, however, is spite. 

 

One morning, he goes to bed with Hyunjin wrapped in his arms, and when he wakes up, the apartment is empty of any trace of the boy, except Changbin’s phone that has blown up with messages and links to articles that out him as gay, old transcripts of his Soundcloud mixtapes that have descriptions of short hair, sweat and cologne over analyzed until they drip with red pen, compilations of any touches, any contact he’s had with other male celebrities over the past few years. 

 

His company issues a statement of denial, and then a hiatus. 

 

Hyunjin falls into a scandal of his own a week later, one that his company doesn’t deny. Golden boy Hwang Hyunjin is carefully meeting rookie actress Min Hyunah, and they hope they haven’t disappointed their fans but look forward to the future. 

 

Changbin enlists in the military a month later. 

 

—

 

When he gets out, it’s cold and it’s raining. His boots scuff into the ground as he walks forward, and he decides to take the train, and then the subway. It’s been a while since he’s taken public transport, and he realizes in this moment how much his arrogance must have grown in the past few years that boosted his career. 

 

He gets off at his stop but doesn’t bother to take the escalator up, instead plopping down onto a bench as he opens his phone and thumbs through his contacts. One by one, he presses delete, going through the list and cutting out the people he doesn’t need, the people he doesn’t want anymore. 

 

Thirty minutes later finds him frozen in the same spot, approaching Hwang at the end of the alphabet, and even as he knows that it’s the right step, it takes too much effort. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a crush, a flirt, infatuation, and it developed into something bigger, something more. Dependence, a muse, a need. 

 

Leaning back, he takes a deep breath, taking in the musk of the underground and realizes that maybe this is where he belongs, lost in the middle of a crowd that doesn’t bother to give him a second glance. Over to the side, a violinist plays a sorrowful melody for a few crumpled bills, and it brings Changbin back to the days when he was still ambitious and greedy and young, rapping about his parents, rapping about school, rapping about society. Back when he didn’t change pronouns, and when he wasn’t ashamed of being gay, just of not succeeding. 

 

He deletes the contact and stands up, opening the recording app as he nears the violinist. He drops in whatever change he has in his pocket, smiles at the performer, and walks back to his apartment through the rain. 

 

—

 

It’s dark, just as he expected, but when he flicks on the light, there’s a figure sitting on his couch, as if he belongs there. Maybe that’s what breaks him, that sense of belonging. Changbin isn’t sure what it is, but before he knows it he’s screaming and shouting, pointing at the door wide open behind him as he yells, “Get out! Get out of my house, right now!” 

 

He doesn’t care that his neighbors peek out from behind their doors, he doesn’t care that he’s dripping water all over the floor. But he hates the part of him that finds himself caring that the figure left without even a fight. 

 

And most of all, he hates the part of him that wishes he could turn back time to before he deleted his contacts, so that there would still be some way to reach out and beg, “Come back.”

 

Instead, he goes back to the only thing he knows. He sheds his wet clothes, dries off, and then sits at his kitchen table with a pen and some paper. Back to his roots. 

 

He works all night, and then stays up the next three more nights, breaking only for the shortest naps and just enough food that he can focus again on his work. 

 

Finally, at dawn on the fourth day, he opens his computer and logs into his old Soundcloud account. 

 

_SpearB has published a new track: how have you been, my prince_


	2. the knight in shining armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hyunjin pov i guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this is so fucking long TEN THOUSAND FOR ONE CHAPTER THATS THE FIRST TIME I'VE GONE OVER DOUBLE DIGITS WHY IS HYUNJIN SO COMPLICATED I LITERALLY CAN'T THIS FUCKEN BIHHHHHHHH i can't believe once upon a time i asked "how do people write long fics" i guess this is how -_- i feel like i really did changbin so dirty i could have expanded on him so much more (maybe i will hmm) but anyway onwards ho i had a deadline for that one 
> 
> ok so a lot of yall asked for a continuation (in various places of twitter that i would not have seen had my friends not shown me so >.> ok i guess) anyway thank you so much for your comments i <3333 i thought it was happy but i guess not,,,, :/
> 
> anyway jinn i still love you uwu
> 
> also this has like, 10% more dialogue yay! and its has more happy stuff uwu enjoy my lovelies i'll stop rambling now

It’s harmless. It’s fun. It’s just like every other dumb thing that has gotten Hyunjin sucked into a world he never knew he would rely on like a drug addiction that’s got him itching his wrist and running to the bathroom for seconds and thirds even though somewhere, deep down, he knows he wants out, he knows he doesn’t really believe those lies that the company feeds him. 

 

But at the same time, it’s not, it’s the complete opposite, so much so that it’s exhilarating once again and he feels the same rush that he used to when he was standing on stages in school, on TV, and then bigger and bigger until it became dull and redundant… Except for this time, it’s slow dances in the kitchen after a shared bottle of wine, it’s soft touches and intertwined fingers and it _never_ gets old.

 

Who knows. Maybe it would have gotten old. But before that, it breaks. 

 

 

—

 

 

“Don’t you think they’re overworking you?” Chan asks one day. It’s not some special and magical encounter in which Chan waits for him to come back home in the dead of the night, lights off with just one lamp lit, only the hum of the refrigerator making much noise or whatever crap they write in novels about parents and their pesky children, because they don’t have the time for that, and as much as Chan feels like a father sometimes, everybody knows that Hyunjin never had and never will have a childhood. 

 

Instead, it’s in between stations from makeup to hair and back again for corrections because Hyunjin isn’t perfect and it’s apparent in his god damn acne and then over back to hair because he can’t help it if his head tilts back, back, back into dreamland no matter how hard he scratches or pinches or bites the inside of his cheek, he’s tired. Maybe that in itself should be telling of the answer to Chan’s absolute and utterly rhetorical question, but Hyunjin just smiles that god damn smile of his and shakes his head. 

 

“Look who’s talking.”

 

And that shuts Chan right up because who has the energy to fight, in this economy, when more sleep means less schedules, less schedules means less exposure, and at the end of the day, exposure is all that they have after the company sucks them dry, collects debt faster than Chan can write music, make royalties, and then spread what’s left among the six of them. “Just, take it easy, kid.”

 

“What am I, a goat?” 

 

It’s bad, really bad, but Chan takes it with a huff and a grin. Who cares, anyway. The good jokes are meant for saving, for hoarding so Hyunjin can pop them off and buy that extra second of screentime. It’s just a pity that it leaves the rest of their conversations dry, if even existent. 

 

Maybe, just maybe, there is a second thing that it helps keeps dry. Because at the end of the day, even without a childhood, a kid is a kid and sometimes that kid just wants to curl up and cry. 

 

—

 

At first, he’s happy. Maybe even thrilled. It’s a big chance to collaborate with some of the biggest names on the hip-hop scene, that is, if he even makes it that far. But then he thinks about it, and he’s confused. 

 

“But wait,” he asks, eyes large and curious and beautiful and exactly the reason why. “Why me?” The answer is clear, but still, he asks. 

 

“Chan hyung is a much better rapper than me, has been rapping for longer _and_ he produces and writes our songs. He’d get much farther!” 

 

“Yes. We are aware. But don’t worry about that.”

 

And that’s that. 

 

Except it’s not that. 

 

It’s not that because of the way Chan’s eyes blaze when they get the news and even the fact that the “news” is less of a casual update and more of a rumor with some gossip that’s been stacked on top. Negative or positive? Definitely negative because science applies to words and the heavier and harder the are the quicker they fall and the deeper they dig. 

 

So, Chan’s eyes blaze and his smile strains and then soon enough it is that because he holes up in his studio and it’s back to normal except that maybe this time the songs have gone back to the old shouts against society instead of the trendy love songs they’ve been churning out like an industrial sewing machine, quick and cursory sweep of the sides to catch any stray threads and then out to the market: mass production for department stores, not quirks and vintage from antique shops. 

 

He retreats into the studio to polish his tracks because he thinks that he shouldn’t blame Hyunjin but rather himself. Clearly, it’s that his products aren’t good enough, so all he has to do is make them better. 

 

When Hyunjin drops by with some rice cakes and _kimbap_ rolls it’s less like how he meant, like days long past when they would share snacks in secret, giggling as they wolfed food down like they had no time, like their days were numbered. Instead, it’s like he’s bringing gifts to appease, a tithing to repent for sins that he never intended to bear on lashed shoulders. And yet the look in Chan’s eyes is still there, except now it’s murky and hidden under a watery film of sadness, a look that says, “No, _I_ should be the one paying you, our prince, our king, our royalty that we find ourselves supine in front of.” 

 

And this, this is worse, because Hyunjin knows why he does it, he knows the pact they made, the handshake they had once upon a time when they didn’t know how success would break them. 

 

“We’re a family. And family doesn’t fight. We can’t get upset at each other for finding success. Envy is a poison and the only antidote is support. Understand?” 

 

These are words that Chan spoke years ago, and these are still the words that Chan lives by because that is the kind of man that he is, a man built strong and sturdy on a foundation of morals. 

 

But even the tallest and strongest of trees will fall if you chip away at them enough. 

 

And while Chan might not go back on his promises, crossed pinkies mean nothing to Hyunjin, not after the countless opportunities he had to turn down offers, or even promote the others better, or even, in the darkest of times, when he stole those offers out from under others’ noses. Like he said, it’s an addiction, and Hyunjin will do whatever it takes to feed it. The only problem with drugs is that you need more and more every time as the high wears off faster and faster, until you feel empty with nothing left to satisfy the cravings. 

 

Hyunjin wishes Chan would be like him, too. Or at the very least say something vile, throw a fist, do anything except smile, eat the food, offer Hyunjin a listen of one of his new tracks. 

 

The realistic side of his brain tells him, “Stop it, you selfish brat. You know you aren’t here to comfort him. You just don’t want to be alone.”

 

The other part, the selfish one, just answers, “I know.” That shuts it right up. 

 

—

 

He steps out of the van and immediately, there’s a camera in his face. He smiles, eyes wide even though the sun is bright as it reflects off the pavement because that’s what he can show them at the moment. A small part of him is giddy as he thinks, “Oh, yay, they recognized me even behind the mask.”

 

He’s escorted to an interview room immediately, before he can even look around more than once, but that doesn’t mean he misses the glares thrown his way by contestants all around. Once is enough. A spiteful part of him notices that the uglier they are, the angrier they seem to be.

 

“So, Hwang Hyunjin. An idol? On Show Me the Money?”

 

Hyunjin goes into his mental laugh storage container and picks the right one that’s just the right mix of humble and confident to avoid most of the mess of netizen flames. “Ah, yes. Well, it’s so stereotypical but I just wanted to prove myself, you know? I’m not just an idol or a pretty face.” 

 

_You are, though_. 

 

“I’m a rapper, too, and I wanted to show that to the nation.”

 

The interviewer is charmed and they wrap up the interview quickly so that they can have a camera follow him back outside. 

 

They probably want some good shots of interaction, but it’s hard when nobody wants their face in the same shot as somebody like Hyunjin. The closest he gets is that he makes eye contact with the contestant next to him, some shabby underground rapper whose clothes scream old school and dark, dark, dark. 

 

But then the way this rapper raps slide out like a knife, plunging into the ears of the room around them as the waiting crowds go silent, straining to listen. It shocks Hyunjin momentarily, just enough that he’s thrown off guard the tiniest bit. 

 

Nevertheless, he performs as he always does because he’s nothing if not prepared and this is a rap verse he’s been practicing in his sleep. He’s prepared because even though he knows it doesn’t matter, that his path is safe this round, and the next, and the next, all the way up to until the audience votes start to count live, he still wants it to matter. 

 

Once he’s done, he takes a deep breath (but silently, so that nobody, not even the microphone clipped to his collar can register). He’s still coming down from his high so he barely registers the chain being hooked around his neck. 

 

Suddenly, he’s propelled forward by a slap on the back, half from surprise and half because he’s been dieting too hard, and he turns around and sees the rapper that caught him off guard just moments before. 

 

He says something, but Hyunjin is still dazed so it takes a moment to register that it was a compliment, an acknowledgment that Hyunjin doesn’t realize he seeks until he has it. Then it takes another moment to see the hand hovering in his peripheral vision, and then a third to reach out and grasp it. 

 

“Thanks. I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” Part of him wants to preen and flaunt his career, but the side of him that helped him evolve years ago rears it’s head for the first time in a while and says, “Shut up. Look around you. He probably hates idols, doesn’t even know you.”

 

“Seo Changbin. I’ll see you around.” He turns around and walks away without flair, and likely out of Hyunjin’s life. 

 

The flirty, variety show trained side of Hyunjin’s mind trills it’s tongue a little and thinks, “Well I sure hope Seo.” The other side just nods its head sagely in agreement. 

 

The whole and rational side thinks, “I really need to stop dividing my brain into parts.”

 

If a mind scientist took out Hyunjin’s brain and observed it, they might say something like, “He’s doing it as a defense mechanism, to save a part of his humanity underneath all of the costumes and exteriors he has to show to the public,” but there’s a reason Hyunjin is the face genius and not the just genius of their group. 

 

—

 

Hyunjin wakes up to somebody shaking his shoulder roughly as they shout at him to “Turn off your god damn alarm Hwang Hyunjin or fucking change it already it’s been three years.”

 

“I’m up, I’m up,” Hyunjin says, turning off his phone so that it’ll stop yelling, “HWANG HYUNJIN WAKE UP. WAKE UP HWANG HYUNJIN.” It was funny when they debuted, but three years in and it’s mostly just become an annoyance that Hyunjin never quite remembers to update. Or maybe it’s one more thing of the past that he’s clinging to as if it’ll return him to innocence one day. Blearily, he rubs his eyes and looks up to see Felix crawling back into his bed on the other side of the room. 

 

Hyunjin sighs. It must be another solo schedule day. 

 

Out in the kitchen, he stumbles over to the fridge for a quick glass of water only to encounter Chan sitting there already at the kitchen table, papers and pen strewn around him. 

 

“Hyung,” he says, “It’s four in the morning, why are you up so early already?”

 

Chan startles, looking up from his coffee mug. “Oh, Hyunjin. You should hurry up and get going, don’t want to be late to the shop,” he says, smiling gently. Not moments later though, when Hyunjin is opening the front door to leave, he turns around one last time and sees that Chan’s smile is already gone, replaced with a frown that hangs as low as the bags under his eyes. 

 

It’s a shame Hyunjin doesn’t have more time. He just nods and follows their manager out the door. 

 

—

 

The next few months pass the same way the past few years have been passing, in a blur of schedules where nothing stands out, and the only way he actually remembers anything that had happened is by watching what they show him on television. A clip of him laughing to a joke that was distinctly not funny, that time he goes on Radio Star and has just about everything he says edited out except for when he does a rather atrocious impersonation of that one movie that’s been trending these days. 

 

The only schedule that he’s mildly looking forward to is Show Me the Money, and that’s because that’s probably the only place where the other contestants hate him just as much as he hates them. 

 

He shows up for the second round auditions, and already, they’ve formed little cliques of their own. The ones that are in crews or labels together converse freely, without much anxiety. A few underground rappers clump together in a group, silently nodding at each other before discussing who’s who and what’s what on the scene these days. All the freestylers are being loud and annoying and having mini battles on the other side of the room, and Hyunjin feels, for the first time, left out. These are the moments that make him continue clinging to his bandmates even though he thrives on solo activities — it’s because he’s still lonely, somewhere inside. 

 

Suddenly, he hears a voice addressing him and turns around in surprise to see the rapper from before standing at his side. Hyunjin flicks his eyes down, looking at the _Seo Changbin_ written on his name tag to confirm that indeed this is the same person. 

 

Hyunjin realizes he looks a little different today, clothes a little cleaner, neater, fancier. As Changbin asks him about something random to do with the audition, a smile graces Hyunjin’s face just by nature of the fact that somebody _here_ is holding a conversation with him. Something warm blooms in his chest as he answers, but then too soon the producers are calling everybody to order, to sit down and watch as others audition. 

 

Hyunjin sits there in silence until it’s his turn, fingers picking at the holes in his jeans, eyes darting to the side occasionally to check on what Changbin’s doing. 

 

He sits there at ease, slouched over in his chair occasionally muttering what must be lyrics to himself as they await their turn. Hyunjin tries to shake himself and do the same, practicing until his name and number are being called. 

 

He goes into the flames and the fire and exits with the gold chain still safe and sound around his neck, so maybe it didn’t go so bad and maybe it wasn’t that obvious that he was distracted the whole time thinking about a certain tapping foot and pair of lips whispering lyrics that are meant to be shouted. 

 

Hyunjin goes back through the waiting room and grins, shaking his chain when Changbin looks up and makes eye contact with him. Changbin smiles, and Hyunjin steps out with a hop in his step. 

 

So maybe not everybody hates him here. But that’s exciting, too. 

 

—

 

He realizes later as he watches the re-run of the show that he’s been distracted by the other rapper. As he watches his on-screen self, glowing in bright white, shake hands with the underground rapper, drab and dark in black, he realizes that their relationship, however non-existent it is, is being broadcast to the world. 

 

Chan stands behind him as Hyunjin monitors himself on television, and asks, “Do you know him?”

 

“No,” Hyunjin answers, keeping the short interaction they had had to himself, his own little secret. 

 

“Good,” Chan says. “We have to go to the company. The managers want to talk to us about something.”

 

“Us?” Hyunjin asks, sitting up with a startle. 

 

Chan doesn’t answer, just walks to the door and pulls on his shoes, so Hyunjin takes that as his cue to follow suit. 

 

The walk over to the company is silent and awkward, and at one point they have to make a run for it to get into the buildings without being noticed, although Hyunjin notices that Chan walks at a more leisurely pace. 

 

Once they’re in the buildings, Chan leads Hyunjin up to a meeting room where the same people who told Hyunjin he was to be on Show Me the Money sit waiting. Hyunjin’s confused but mostly unbothered, and zones out for their greetings, only zoning in minutes later when he hears “Chan… write lyrics… Show” which has him perking up in his seat immediately.

 

“What?” Hyunjin asks, surprised. 

 

“We’re going to have Chan write the rap lyrics for you on Show Money the Money starting now,” they explain in a slow and gentle tone as if explaining to a child. 

 

“But, I’ve already been writing my own lyrics?” Hyunjin says, mind a little confused and pride a lot hurt. He looks over to where Chan sits next to him and sees that he has his head down mostly, just staring at his lap. Is this how Chan felt when he got the news that Hyunjin would be competing instead of him? How must it feel now, to know that your words are more than enough but your face will be the only thing to hinder you? 

 

Hyunjin feels something in his heart break, but he ignores it because he knows it must be nothing compared to what Chan feels. 

 

“Okay.”

 

Okay. It’s all he can say, whether he agrees or not. And sometimes, it’s better to accept it than spend the time and effort getting emotional over something that can’t be changed. It’s just a part of being in the industry, Hyunjin tells himself. 

 

He’s not sure if he really believes it. 

 

—

 

Hyunjin’s been practicing the lyrics that his manager gave him earlier that week, the verses that Chan wrote. The words feel somewhat awkward in his mouth, be he raps until his tongue is numb, and then some more.

 

Halfway through the week, the manager comes in and gives him another set of lyrics, tells Hyunjin that he needs to be prepared just in case he comes to a tie in the 1 vs. 1 round. Hyunjin just nods and takes it, crumpling up the other sheet of paper that he was holding, hiding it behind his back and throwing it in the trash can in the corner of the practice room when his manager leaves. 

 

If somebody were to dig through the trash and unfold it, they might see that Hyunjin _had_ been prepared, with his own lyrics, but they won’t, because who needs to dig through the trash when they’re already overflowing with more than enough lyrics that are just barely not good enough from aspiring musicians acting as ghostwriters all over the nation. 

 

In the car on the way to the site for the 1 vs. 1 mission, his manager leans over to Hyunjin and hands him his phone, open to a screenshot of the last episode. 

 

“This guy, Seo Changbin?” he says, pointing at the phone with one hand while steering precariously with the other, “Pick him for the battle, ok?”

 

Hyunjin wants to say no, wants to say that Changbin is far too good for him, that he’ll never win, but then his manager turns to look at him with a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring but comes off as menacing and Hyunjin smiles back and says, “Of course.”

 

When Changbin asks why, eyes round and imploring, Hyunjin thinks for a second that he kind of looks like a puppy with that long face of his, like an Afghan Hound puppy or something, and he doesn’t want to lie to a face like that. 

 

“I was supposed to.”

 

Changbin accepts it, but not because he has to, not the way Hyunjin accepts things, not like a pill too big and too hard to swallow but the only thing that might keep him numb. He accepts it with trust, with a smile that’s real, and with a look to the future. He makes something of it. “Okay. Well, let’s give them a duet to remember.”

 

“Not a battle?” Hyunjin asks, gulping. He feels even guiltier now.

 

“Not a battle.”

 

Finally it’s their turn to go and perform, and Hyunjin blanks out for most of the stage, just letting Chan’s words roll off his tongue bitterly and not sweetly, but luckily it’s a rap song, not a love song, so it works until the judges reveal the score and tell them that they’re trapped in a tie and Hyunjin suddenly wishes that he would just continue tying with Changbin forever, so they could stand on this stage side by side, looking into each other’s eyes as they slot into the rhythm, weaving their words into each other’s beats. 

 

Instead, Hyunjin uses Chan’s words to win the next round, because Changbin had been thrown off by the results just enough that his words slip a little, barely noticeable, just a slight lean the wrong way instead of the right way. Hyunjin thinks bitterly that Changbin must have been surprised that somebody of Hyunjin’s caliber would dare tie with a rap god like Changbin himself, but then Changbin is in front of him suddenly and telling him to go on and do better and win for his sake. 

 

So then Hyunjin just acts on impulse, laughing and nodding and suddenly reaching out to wrap him in his arms. 

 

A small part of him thinks that they’re a perfect fit, slotting together with Changbin’s head in the crook of his shoulder as he buries his nose in Changbin’s hair for just a hair of a second before pulling back quickly. 

 

An even smaller part of him is hopeful as he scribbles down his number on a slip of scrap paper to give to Changbin before watching him walk away. 

 

—

 

And then life moves on and he has nothing to look forward to except for maybe a text from a certain rapper, but it doesn’t come for a while and Hyunjin forgets about having anything to look forward to except memorizing Chan’s lyrics to prepare for the next stage, and the next, and the next, until suddenly he’s eliminated and there are no more stages to be had, just charts to watch in hopes that his tracks will rise above the others. 

 

They do okay, and he’s checking the Bugs charts for his name when suddenly a notification dings on the top of the screen, telling him that an unknown number has sent him a text message. 

 

Warily, he thumbs it open, dropping his phone with a gasp when he sees

 

[Unknown] 9:48PM

_Hey I saw your last performance. It was really good. Did u want to grab lunch sometime?_

 

His phone dings again with another alert when he reaches down to gingerly pick it up. 

 

[Unknown] 9:49PM

_Btw its Changbin_

 

Hyunjin wants to squeal like a little girl but lets a small blush and a giddy smile do the job instead. He sits there, phone on the table, flapping his hands while trying to think up a reply when his manager walks in with Felix in tow. 

 

“All of you, phones, now,” their manager demands, eyebrows low and voice angry. 

 

Hyunjin flinches, and normally he wouldn’t protest but today something inside of him is telling him to rebel, so he asks, “Why?”

 

It comes off louder and more whiny than he had intended, and the manager just glares at him, barking, “All of your phones are confiscated until the end of next comeback. You can ask Felix why.”

 

And just like that, Hyunjin’s phone is gone. He doesn’t bother to ask Felix why, even though the boy looks genuinely apologetic, and even offers to buy him food once he gets off of house arrest in a couple of months because he knows that with this kind of punishment, it’ll end up on the news a few days later. 

 

And so it does, as Hyunjin peers over Chan’s shoulder as he browses the web on the one computer that they’re allowed to have, but only for producing music even though Chan clearly is doing otherwise. Hyunjin scoffs a little, unable to believe that he lost his phone over Felix’s secret twitter account, but he consoles himself by telling his brain that Changbin would have been a distraction anyway, that it’s not worth his time, that Changbin didn’t actually like him but rather his name, group, and company. 

 

It works better than he thought, and suddenly his heart hurts a little bit more. 

 

—

 

Comeback season comes and goes in the blink of an eye, racing here and there from performance to event to radio to tv show to fansign and then back again to performance to start the cycle all over again. 

 

Every time they stand on stage, the thrill ebbs from his body faster and faster as his fingers itch for a phone to hold and end up grabbing at thin air, scratching at his neck, collar, hips, whatever is covered by the turtlenecks that are in season this fall. 

 

It’s not because he wants to see if there are any new messages, it’s most definitely not because he cares about a certain someone. It’s because he’s always desperate to monitor comments, to check who said what about his performance today or whether they think he’s funny enough, pretty enough. 

 

But then, he’s sitting in an interview for Happy Together with a gaggle of other visual members from various idol groups around him as they do a “Flower Boy Idols” special episode, and he feels himself shrinking back, paling in comparison to Cha Eunwoo sunbaenim who’s showing off his “celebrity research skills” again, and Hyunsik sunbaenim who just finished wrapping up another drama, and BtoB’s Minhyuk sunbaenim who doesn’t need to go on rap survival shows to prove himself because he’s already perfect, and _oh my god Got7’s Jinyoung sunbaenim who is literally so perfect and beautiful and covers his mouth when he laughs and doesn’t need to do any embarrassing impersonations because everybody loves him enough already_. And basically, everybody around him who is prettier and better than him in every single way. 

 

But then suddenly the MC calls on him, and his back straightens up immediately and he leans forward, smiling as he answers, “Yes?”

 

They all laugh at him as the MC repeats his question, another MC chiding him half jokingly, half seriously on not paying attention as he blushes and looks down at his feet. Technically, he knows what they’re going to ask, as they had already talked about Show Me the Money in the preparatory interviews, but then suddenly he looks up at the screen and is distracted again by the short screen clip they play where Changbin loiters in the background, looking up at him just slightly as he raps his way through the audition rounds. 

 

Hyunjin gives his pre-prepared answer in a robotic voice, and later the comments will say that he was cold, his attitude was bad, he acted arrogant around his seniors, but Hyunjin finds that he’s been lying to himself, that it’s isn’t _their_ opinion that matters, just _one_ opinion. 

 

Eventually, as the interviews continue and the broadcasting companies get too lazy to use a different clip, Hyunjin gets used to the weird feeling in his gut that shows up every time he sees that gold chain, those baggy, torn black jeans, the hands that flit up and down awkwardly in the background of a video that’s meant to be a focus on himself but captures the one thing that Hyunjin simultaneously can’t stand the sight of and yet desperately yearns to see in the flesh. 

 

He pushes away the feeling, shoves it down, down, down in his stomach until it’s silenced, barely there, just a whisper behind the growls that grow louder as he finds other things to focus on, like smiling wider, working harder, becoming prettier, better, more perfect for the camera. But it’s purposeless, and he knows, because the more he pushes _that_ feeling away, 

 

—

 

Finally, they get their phones back, but there are no new messages from Changbin. It’s to be expected though. Hyunjin had ghosted him for over a month, and it’s a moot point to try to pick up a dead conversation at this point. 

 

Still, Hyunjin finds himself occasionally searching the name “Seo Changbin” on Naver, clicking on the clips of him at a random radio, fingers ghosting over his own lips with the smallest sliver of hope when they ask, “What’s your ideal type?” and they get answered, “Pretty lips,” and nothing more. 

 

_“_ Maybe,” he thinks, looking into the mirror. And then reality comes shattering in as Felix pounds on the door outside, begging Hyunjin to let him in because Minho is in the other bathroom and he really has to pee. 

 

So Hyunjin unlocks the door, rolling his eyes as Felix thanks him and dedicates his bladder and his life to Hyunjin, and he moves on. He throws himself into practice and dieting and gets Allen to teach him English because Chan is busy and Felix is always in trouble and they’re going on world tour soon. 

 

—

 

They’re in New York, the city that never sleeps when it happens. Except it’s broad daylight, two in the afternoon, so of course nobody is asleep here, except in Korea Hyunjin knows it must be three in the morning and Hyunjin doesn’t know if he should answer, what if it’s an accident, what if he doesn’t mean it, what if he doesn’t want to yell at him, and then while his fingers hover over the phone it cuts off and the call ends too soon for Hyunjin to make up his mind. 

 

He shrugs and continues to practice, not hearing the ding of his phone as a voicemail registers two minutes later.

 

That night, in the dark of their hotel room, as Felix snores in the bed next to him, Hyunjin finally pulls his phone back out and presses play. 

 

Changbin sounds drunk, which makes Hyunjin wish he could be drunk, but none of them are allowed even ten feet near alcohol because of their company senior that fucked up and landed himself a DUI and an extra early 2 year mandatory military service, which is the equivalent of a life sentence with little hope for parole in this fucked up industry. Still, Hyunjin can’t help but think, as he hits the replay button one more time, he would really kill for a beer, or a soju, or even both fisted in either hand as he mixes them in his mouth creating poison on the spot.

 

Instead, he’s left with itching hands that clutch at thin air and even itchier eyes that might get a little red but won’t ever overflow with tears because that means a bloated face for their 7 AM flight, including all their fansites, the next morning. 

 

Technically, it’s this morning and not next morning. He should really get to sleep.

 

He hits play once more and then deletes the message entirely.

 

Life moves on.

 

—

 

This is bullshit.

 

It’s a lot harder for life to move on when the minute they get back from their world tour, and they’ve missed a _lot_ domestically during their four months gone and focusing on international fans because the Hallyu market is nothing if not fast, and there’s a new star that’s shot up the charts, a chart killer whose voice is playing in every fucking cafe, store, and even bathroom that Hyunjin walks into. 

 

And as much as that voice is lovely, and beautiful, and alluring, and piercing, Hyunjin feels unsettled. He’s listening for a certain something, and it’s only after months of listening that he realizes what. He’s listening for a song that hasn’t been published to the public yet. 

 

Hyunjin doesn’t know why he does it, but it’s one of those nights after his legs are numb from too much dancing and he just wants to run down to the Han River and eat ice cream but he can’t because of sasaengs and he needs to diet anyway, and so he just tucks himself into a bathroom stall on one of the floors the company doesn’t really use for much except storage and picks up the phone. 

 

He won’t lie and say he doesn’t have high hopes, but he is most definitely surprised when a voice picks up, clear and not groggy, sober and not drunk, completely clear of mind, “Hyunjin?”

 

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. He starts to giggle, a tiny, schoolgirlish part of himself that he never knew existed escaping from his voice as he sits there on top of a toilet, delirious from lack of sleep and food and just plain, straight exhaustion. “Do you want to get ice cream by the Han River?”

 

“Okay.”

 

—

 

And just like that, Hyunjin’s heart is expanding and growing and oh so full it might burst and explode someday like the fireworks that Changbin takes him to watch when he should be practicing for their comeback instead. But he doesn’t mind or he doesn’t care, and he has every intention to ride this high as long as it will take him because he’s finally feeling again, something that he hadn’t felt in a long while, and he’s giddy as he skips company dinners and comes home later than late and some days not at all. 

 

Hyunjin’s never been good at keeping secrets, he’s a natural born performer so when he smiles more and hums more the members are suspicious and the managers try to decide if they should hold an intervention. 

 

But then they ask him about it and it isn’t a girl, it’s just Changbin, this rapper that’s hitting number one on the charts, and so they chide him a little but they also ask if maybe Changbin’s company would be interested in a duet, or even a reality show.

 

Hyunjin starts to turn down schedules and skip practices to disappear, and it’s a little bit worrying until they realize that he’ll say yes to anything if Changbin is with him, so they push them forward as the best bromance couple of the year, and then even send Felix along with Hyunjin while Changbin brings an old underground friend of his, Jisung, and they film a mini reality series about the differences between underground rappers and idol rappers and Hyunjin has to hold himself back from pouting too obviously when Changbin has to kiss Felix on the cheek as a punishment but it turns out okay when Jisung makes grabby hands at Hyunjin and Changbin runs over to push him away, fuming. 

 

Later, Felix cuddles up to Hyunjin in bed, and Hyunjin realizes that it’s been a while since they slept together like this, a while since Hyunjin became cold and arrogant too fast for the rest of the members to keep up. 

 

“Hyunjinnie,” Felix asks in a cutesy voice that just sounds _weird_ compared to his normal, deep voice. 

 

“Yes?” Hyunjin asks sleepily. 

 

“Are you really mad? I’m sorry, I just thought it would be funny.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Hyunjin asks. He’s too distracted, trying to fall asleep quickly so he can dream about Binnies wearing beanies and just _cute_ and _fluffy_ and _soft_ things.

 

“When Changbin had to kiss me. I’m sorry if you’re mad,” Felix explains.

 

“Oh,” Hyunjin says. “Was it that obvious?”

 

“You’re in love for the first time. Of course it was obvious,” Felix says, giggling even as he says something serious and wise.

 

“Well. I’m not mad. I wouldn’t be cuddling you otherwise. I guess I was jealous,” Hyunjin answers.

 

Felix nods into Hyunjin’s arm. “That’s okay. I’ve been jealous before, too, but I understand now.”

 

“Understand?” 

 

“It’s nothing. If you’re not mad, then could you do me a favor?” Felix asks cautiously.

 

“Of course,” Hyunjin answers, shifting to try to look at Felix in the dark. 

 

Felix hesitates for a moment before continuing, “Do you think you could ask Changbin for Jisung’s number?”

 

“Oh.”

 

—

 

Things get a little bit easier after that because Felix understands him, and he’s been sneaky before so he manages to help Hyunjin trick management so that they can sneak out, and he and Jisung join them on these weird double dates that mostly just look like four dudes hanging out, except Hyunjin and Changbin are always in their own world. 

 

—

 

Eventually, winter rolls around and they stroll in the moonlight when nobody’s awake, hands hidden and squished together in Hyunjin’s pocket as face masks and oversized scarves shield them from both the sharp and biting wind that pushes snow in their faces, as well as any cameras that might peek around building corners and bushes. 

 

They make plans to meet up the week after Christmas to exchange gifts because Hyunjin has a schedule, one that he can’t skip again.

 

But then Christmas rolls around and Hyunjin wakes up and his manager tells him to go back to sleep because it got canceled because of the weather. 

 

Hyunjin can’t believe that he’ll have Christmas off. He’s giddy like a child and he rushes to call Changbin, let him know that he can give him his gift in person. But Changbin’s phone is off, so he leaves him a text and then Hyunjin remembers that he’s off at a gig or something or other, so it’ll have to wait until later, but it doesn’t stop Hyunjin from rushing to Changbin’s apartment with an armful of garlands and mistletoe that he hangs up around the living room. He sits there and waits in the dark, a candle on the table the only light for now because later he knows that the only light he will need is Changbin’s glowing smile.

 

Hyunjin startles at the sound of the beeping and sliding of the lock, realizing that he must have drifted off. The lights flick on and he looks up, arms opening by instinct as he reaches up.

 

“How have you been, Hyunjin, my prince?” Changbin asks, and Hyunjin blushes as red as the ribbons that he’s strewn around the place.

 

A lot of people call him prince, but Changbin is the only one who says those words as an endearment and not reverently.

 

—

 

Later, while they’re cuddling up with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, Hyunjin startles and says, “Oh! Gifts!”

 

Changbin laughs, “It looks like somebody is eager.”

 

Hyunjin sinks back down and answers, “Well, I have something a little special. Can I show you something?”

 

Changbin nods at him to go ahead, and Hyunjin’s words dissipate. 

 

“You remember what I told you? About how the lyrics that I used for Show Me the Money weren’t mine.”

 

Changbin nods again, a little bit warier now knowing that this is a sensitive topic for Hyunjin. 

 

“This is what I would have rapped. You know, if I had the chance to write it myself.” Hyunjin pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket, one that’s been crumpled and unfolded, crumpled and unfolded, in and out of the recycling bin far too many times to escape unscathed. The pencil marks on the page are slightly faded, months having passed since they were written, and they’re littered with pen marks in various colors, crossing out lyrics and circling words here and there, arrows pointing this way and that. 

 

It’s art. 

 

Changbin holds the paper for a long moment, reading over the words once, twice, then going back to analyze the rhymes, noting the sequences and clips and cadences. Finally, he lets it fall to the floor so he can hold Hyunjin’s face in his hands instead. 

 

“I think you would have still won.”

 

Hyunjin thinks his heart is breaking. He knows that this isn’t just a compliment. It’s Changbin’s absolute and utter submission. Changbin’s rap is his entire pride, his whole life, his career from start to finish. 

 

“Baby, please, don’t cry,” Changbin shushes, wiping away the tears that well up in Hyunjin’s eyes. 

 

Hyunjin laughs a watery little chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “They’re happy tears.”

 

—

 

Later, Hyunjin is on a Seollal Special episode of some show that he can’t remember the title of, filming at nine in the morning in January, a full month ahead of when it will air. 

 

He perks up though when they ask the guests about how they spent the past holidays, if they got any special gifts for Christmas. 

 

When it’s Hyunjin’s turn, he’s eager to answer, saying that he brought it here with him today. 

 

He pulls out a guitar, shiny and new and _expensive_ , and strums it gently as he sings a tune that everybody claps politely for afterward. 

 

They ask him if it was from a fan, or family, or somebody special. 

 

Hyunjin shrugs, smile secretive on his face as he answers, “Just somebody that I know.”

 

At home, when the episode airs in February, Changbin will snort and imitate Hyunjin’s voice, exaggerating the coolness as he mocks, “Just somebody that I know.” Hyunjin can hear the air quotes dripping around that sentence, and he laughs and chucks a pillow in Changbin’s face.

 

—

 

In a different place that is technically where Hyunjin lives but isn’t where he feels he belongs, somebody else feels a slightly different way. 

 

When Hyunjin gets back, trying to sneak in quietly in the morning like he’s a teenager sneaking in from a night out partying, Chan is sitting there in the living room, Hyunjin’s guitar sitting in front of him.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hyunjin says, weirdly defensive about the gift.

 

“What the fuck are _you_ doing?” Chan throws back. “Sneaking around all the time, missing practice, saying no to critical schedules. Where have you been, who gave you this?”

 

“What’s it to you?” Hyunjin answers, taken aback by the sudden harshness in Chan’s voice. He’s not sure that he’s ever heard Chan curse in all their years of training and promoting together, especially not at himself. 

 

“What’s it to me? What’s it to me?” Chan asks, laughing harshly. “Ask yourself that! You’re giving up your career for what? Some torrid love affair? Something so childish? What’s gotten into you these days? Or rather, who’s gotten into you.”

 

“Shut up, it’s none of your business.” Hyunjin knows he’s being harsh, that he has no right to talk back to Chan like this when he’s being a good leader, genuinely worried for him.

 

“This is ridiculous, you don’t even play guitar,” Chan says, picking the damn thing up like it’s incriminating evidence in a federal crime. 

 

“Don’t touch it, Changbin gave me that!” Hyunjin cries out on reflex.

 

“What?” Chan asks, turning sharply. 

 

“You heard me,” Hyunjin answers, defiant and rebellious and in unfamiliar territory. 

 

Something in Chan seems to snap at that moment. Maybe it’s the stress, from trying to lead a group of rowdy kids on the path to success, maybe it’s the anguish of having his songs rejected, again and again, maybe it’s Hyunjin, and the way Chan never had a shot where Hyunjin did, or maybe it’s just everything at once, coming over him and breaking the damn. 

 

“Yes,” Chan says. “I did hear you.”

 

And with that, he pulls the guitar down in an arc, and Hyunjin watches, almost in slow motion, as it crashes to the ground, wood splintering and strings flying. 

 

Hyunjin hears Felix gasp from the doorway, but he isn’t paying attention.

 

He runs out of the house in tears, and he really does feel like a child running away from home, except he knows that he’ll have to come back sooner rather than later, but for now he takes what he can get.

 

It’s a harsh reminder that he doesn’t get a normal life.

 

—

 

“What’s wrong?” Changbin asks, smiling even as Hyunjin sniffles against his neck. He isn’t happy about the state that Hyunjin is in by any means at all, but rather it’s the fact that Hyunjin trusts him, that Hyunjin comes to _him_ first when he’s feeling dejected, that has him feel warmth blossoming inside. 

 

Hyunjin sighs, “It’s nothing. I just had a small argument with somebody that I thought I trusted.”

 

“Trusted, past tense?” Changbin asks. “Who do I have to fight?”

 

“With your short ass? I don’t think so,” Hyunjin says, giggling. 

 

“Hey!” Changbin complains, poking Hyunjin in the ribs as he squeals. “I, your knight in shining armor, am here trying to protect you and this is the thanks I get?”

 

Hyunjin snickers and runs to the kitchen. “Make me some ramen and maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

 

Changbin makes a big show of sighing and stomping after him but sets the water boiling on the stove immediately anyways. 

 

As they wait for the ramen to cook, Hyunjin stands over the pot, impatiently stirring the noodles this way and that, and Changbin just watches with a smile on his face.

 

Eventually, Hyunjin looks up with a frown, “What? Is there something on my face?”

 

“No,” Changbin answers. “You’re just beautiful.”

 

“Ew,” Hyunjin says, “I didn’t realize I ordered cheese on this ramen.”

 

“You little— Oh shit!” Changbin says, rushing over to move the pot off the stove as it bubbles and overflows onto the kitchen floor. Hyunjin just stands there and laughs as Changbin tries to salvage what’s left of their dinner, and then goes to press little kisses on Changbin’s fingers where he complains that he burned them on the pot.

 

Changbin smiles because Hyunjin smiles. He decides that it doesn’t matter that Hyunjin avoided his question earlier because all that matters is that Hyunjin is happy right now.

 

—

 

Hyunjin is roused from his sleep by an incessant buzzing noise. 

 

“Changbin,” he says, groaning and smacking the rapper on the face. The only response is a grunt and the slightest shift before he sighs and falls back asleep. “Ugh, Changbin.” There’s not even movement this time. Hyunjin sighs and sits up in bed, thinking that it must be the managers or Chan calling again to tell him to come home, maybe even apologize. 

 

When he goes to reach for the phone, he looks at the screen for a second, confused as to why his own face is looking back at him before he realizes that it’s Changbin’s phone that’s buzzing. His heart flips a little, realizing that he’s the one who gets to be on Changbin’s lock screen, before his tired eyes finally register the notifications that fill up the lower half of the screen. 

 

As he reads on, he bolts up out of bed and scrambles to gather his stuff and head home. He’s not thinking straight, just that he needs to get back to the dorms immediately and figure out why the _hell_ anybody would think to release this kind of information about Changbin.

 

Jealously? Spite? Homophobia? Just plain malice?

 

Even though he tells himself that he’s heading back to figure things out, he knows exactly who is responsible for this. 

 

—

 

“I did it to protect you.”

 

“You don’t know love. You don’t know him. You don’t love him. I don’t care if you break my heart but I cant just stand by and watch _him_ break yours. Its infatuation. I _know_ what you love and what you love is the stage and look where you are now. He’s successful, he hasn’t got anything to lose by association with you but you? Think about your image, think about how much you’ve given up, how much you’ve fallen. You’ve been running around, dropping schedules and skipping practice to be with him. Your dream isn’t to be some second rate rapper’s boyfriend, it’s to be a _performer_ on _stage_. Go then, if you want. Leave the group, love him, date him. But just think about it.”

 

“I did it because I love you.”

 

It’s a fucking speech and Hyunjin gets no chance to speak his own defense. The words attack and chip away at his fortifications until all that’s left is a splintered treehouse on the ground of a forest floor, great big oak tree fallen alongside it. 

 

Hyunjin knows that Chan has always been good with words. It’s just that he doesn’t realize until this moment exactly how powerful he is when he speaks them them. Hyunjin wonders why Chan hasn’t ever used them to his own advantage, to take back Hyunjin’s rap parts or mc positions or whatever else he had accumulated over time. And that’s when he understands that Chan has just told him with his own mouth the reason why, and in fact has been telling him why all these years. Hyunjin just hadn’t ever been listening. 

 

If a tree falls in the forest, and you’re too dense in the skull and entirely self-centered to listen, does it really make a sound?

 

—

 

Later, as Hyunjin sits in his room trying to make sense of what he already knows, Felix shuffles in quietly. 

 

They sit there in silence for some time before Hyunjin speaks up, staring at the wall above Felix’s head. 

 

“Is it true?” he asks, voice quiet but piercing in this suffocating silence. 

 

Felix doesn’t bother to ask what Hyunjin is talking about and instead chuckles hollowly. “Of course it’s true. It’s been true since the first day he met you. Since the first day that _I_ met you, too.”

 

Hyunjin doesn’t react. He’s completely run out of any capability to be shocked at this point. “You, too,” he says. It isn’t a question. 

 

Felix chuckles and turns on his side to look at Hyunjin with sorrowful eyes. It’s strange to see Felix with anything other than a giddy smile on his face, and Hyunjin feels prickles of guilt eat away at his stomach. “Me, too, and every single person that has ever known you, too.”

 

“I see.” He doesn’t really. He doesn’t understand how people could love somebody as ugly and broken inside as he is. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Felix says, turning back over to snuggle back into his blankets. “I got over it eventually. So do most people. You should go to sleep, the managers will want to talk to you tomorrow.”

 

Hyunjin nods and flicks off the lights. He wonders if Chan will get over it, too. Somewhere in the crueler part of his heart, he hopes so. Somewhere in the absolutely vile part of his heart, he hopes not; he hopes Chan will love him forever, even if Hyunjin has no plans to return that love. 

 

He also wonders if Changbin will get over it, too. 

 

Probably. 

 

Hyunjin has never considered himself worthy of Changbin’s love anyway. 

 

—

 

The next day, just a few minutes before the company meeting, he checks his phone to see that Changbin is still trending #1 on all the portal sites. There are new articles popping up here and there that claim he may be in a relationship with a member of an idol group, or an actor, or a sports player, or literally anybody. It’s a little bit ridiculous. 

 

When the page refreshes, Hyunjin sees that there’s a brand new statement out from the company issuing a denial, saying that Changbin is in no way homosexual nor is he linked to anything of the sort. The try to pass off any lyrics from the past as a show of support for the LGBT community but not actual involvement as they try to juggle both the mainstream markets and the minority.

 

They only really manage to ostracize both. 

 

It’s understandable, they’re a small company. Hyunjin’s, on the other hand, is a well-oiled machine. Technically, nobody really knows that Hyunjin has been dating Changbin, but with this new information, it isn’t too difficult to figure out. They aren’t going to cut Hyunjin out immediately, though, because Hyunjin’s face is their main source of income at the moment, and the rest of the group can’t keep them afloat. 

 

Instead, they decide that five, six, seven years is long enough for a scandal. Not one of this caliber, but a smaller one that will blow away just enough suspicion. 

 

The bring him to a room where Hyunah, a girl that he worked with on a short role in a sitcom sits. He knows that she’s an actress, and she can’t drink, and her career basically stopped short after that sitcom. He knows that she’s desperate for publicity, any kind at all, that her company is small and perhaps this might make her the biggest name in it. And that’s all he knows. But it’s not even the worst thing that he’s had to do yet, so he accepts it, because what else is there to do?

 

The company drafts up a statement that will be released in a week, and schedule a comeback two months after that. It’s not that big of a deal, Hyunjin tells himself. It really isn’t, because he’s sure they’ll break up soon enough. 

 

The next day, Changbin’s company announces an indefinite hiatus. 

 

Then, the next week comes, and Changbin’s name temporarily drops from the #1 search spotlight. 

 

Hyunjin smiles a little bit. Finally, he’s made it to #1 on Naver.

 

Perhaps Chan was right. His career comes first. 

 

—

 

A few months later, and just as he guessed it, he’s “broken up”. In all this time, he hasn’t heard word from Changbin, but Hyunjin’s sure that he’s dealing with a few things. Then again, Hyunjin hadn’t had the courage himself to reach out either. 

 

He walks through the streets, hat pulled down over his face although nobody seems to care anymore these days. Without realizing it, he startles when he hears the ding of the elevator arriving, not realizing when he had come into this building and pressed the button to go up. He looks around and realizes that his feet brought him to Changbin’s apartment by habit.

 

He’s about to turn around and leave when a woman’s voice calls out to him, “Hold the door, child!”

 

He does so, and then because he feels stupid and rude leaving the elevator like that, he gets on himself.

 

“Mrs. Kim, hello,” he says, bowing to Changbin’s neighbor. He used to see her occasionally when he would visit, on occasion overly drunk with Changbin singing in his arms.

 

“It’s been a while,” she comments. “I heard you got yourself a girlfriend! Finally, with that handsome face of yours, I’m surprised you weren’t snatched up already.”

 

“Oh. We… we broke up,” Hyunjin says. It feels awkward to say as they were never really dating in the first place, but it’s his story now.

 

Mrs. Kim wrinkles her eyebrows at him and says, “I’m sorry honey. More fish in the sea. Are you here to get drunk with Changbin again then?”

 

Hyunjin doesn’t really know how to explain why he’s here so he just nods his head yes.

 

She just sighs and shakes her head. “You know, he’s been in the military for some time now. Don’t friends tell each other this kind of thing?”

 

“Oh, right. I’m just here to, um, pick up my stuff,” Hyunjin stammers. 

 

She nods, clearly not believing Hyunjin’s messy lie, and they stand there in silence. 

 

Finally, they get to their floor, but before Hyunjin can hurry down the hallway, she grabs his wrist. 

 

Hyunjin looks back, startled, and waits for her to let go, or say something, or whatever.

 

“You know,” she says slowly, “It’s alright. My son is like that, too.”

 

“What?” Hyunjin asks, knowing full well what _that_ is.

 

“Tell Changbin it will be alright. It gives my son hope. He wants to be a singer one day, too.” Then she lets go of his arm and makes her way over to her own apartment.

 

Hyunjin realizes how difficult those words were to say for her, and then he realizes that all this time he had been searching for just that. Acceptance, even through hardship. 

 

He punches in the code and is surprised to see that it’s still his own birthday. 

 

“What a god damn romantic,” he mutters to himself, and opens the door, stepping over the threshold. 

 

—

 

Hyunjin sighs into the darkness. It’s comforting, as lonely as it is. He’s not sure when this became a regular thing, these little escapades that hurt more than they comfort. But somehow, it’s worth the sting when he walks in and sees the little stuffed Gyu doll sitting on display in the corner, the nostalgia as he cooks, eats, and washes dishes, so domestic, the same way that they used to be before it all fell apart, except now he’s alone. 

 

Of course, he knows that he could do this all at home, better so under the supervision of his members so that he doesn’t burn down this apartment, this safe haven. But he misses the smells, the way he still always manages to bump his hip on the corner table because even though Changbin rakes in enough money to spare, he refuses to move out to a bigger and better home. 

 

Some days, like today, Hyunjin doesn’t even do anything. He doesn’t turn on the light, he doesn’t slowly make his way around the room, dancing to no music, he doesn’t sit on Changbin’s bed and try to make himself cry as if that will make up for all of the mistakes he made. 

 

Sometimes, he just sits there on the couch, as still as he can, eyes wide open as they stare at nothing. He wonders, perhaps, this is his future that he’s looking at. 

 

Bleak.

 

Empty.

 

Dark. 

 

And then suddenly, the door is sliding open and a crack of light if falling onto the floor in front of him, and for a brief second he wonders if it’s maybe Jesus coming down from the heavens to guide him back to the path of righteousness, back to the time before he was a celebrity, greedy for fame to the extent that he’d throw down anybody in his way.

 

Then the light flicks on with a click, and Hyunjin realizes that this isn’t forgiveness, this is punishment, this is his demons coming back to tell him that he doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t deserve to feel safe in the home of the man he destroyed. 

 

He looks up into the face and finds that he doesn’t have it in him to look at the destruction that he himself wrought. 

 

Then Changbin starts screaming, shouting at him, “Get out! Get out of my house, right now!” and Hyunjin scrambles up and out of his seat, and past Changbin, so close for a moment that he can smell the grime and dirt on him before he continues past Changbin’s pointing arm and out the door. 

 

Hyunjin trips and falls, and then just turns and sits there, back against the wall, staring at the door, hearing the slam echo down the hallway again and again and again, long after it should have stopped, until he realizes that it isn’t the echo, it’s just his own mind replaying the moment over and over and over again. He sees in his peripheral vision doors opening as people look out to see what the commotion was about, he sees people begin to approach him and stop when they suddenly recognize him. He doesn’t bother to hide his bare face, the tears rolling down without his permission. He just sits there, staring at the door, willing it to open up again. 

 

There might be a flash or two from a phone camera, and somebody taps his shoulder, but he doesn’t hear anything but the slam, echoing in his eardrums, again and again and again. 

 

Eventually, they leave him alone with his regrets to wait by himself for Changbin to come back out and hold him, hug him, tell him that everything will be alright. 

 

He doesn’t. Instead, Hyunjin sits there, clutching at his sides, staring at the door as if that by itself will let it fall open. He knows he has the code, he knows he can go inside, but he doesn’t because he’s afraid to move.

 

—

 

Eventually, he wakes up, back cramping, face cold where it lies squished against the tile floor. His body moves slowly, in agony as he pulls up his arm to check the watch on his wrist and sees that it’s three in the morning, that nobody has come out to tap his shoulder and say, “What are you doing, silly. Get back in bed, it’s cold. I need my prince to warm me up!”

 

There’s nobody coming. 

 

So he goes home.

 

He realizes as he walks through the cold streets of Seoul that he didn’t even remember his shoes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe to be continued part 3 idk i guess i didn't mean to end it here i meant to continue but then it was. yeah.
> 
>  
> 
> if this flops im delete afjskalfdlsafafa please comment T.T
> 
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> 
> lol update: somebody (me, it was me reacting to something somebody said) suggested chan pov


	3. trying to erase pencil with pencil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chan pov... hah u thought LMAO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter alone might need a pt. 2 but idk like i didn't explain ANYTHING that i intended to so yall r probably confused but yeah
> 
> happy early birthday jamie~

FOR JAMIE

 

 

He's the perfect son a family could ever want. Even though he’s an only child, he does well enough and then even better and even more in order to fill in the gaps where his parents either couldn’t afford or didn’t want more children. 

 

His grades are stellar, he’s class president. The teachers love him and he’s well known and considered a kind and caring soul among students. His notes line up in perfect little rows and his grades are just A+ after another. His parents tape his report card to the fridge and everything’s perfect and he’s the perfect students, the golden child, the most filial son.

 

Except one thing. 

 

It’s one thing that changes their family and sours their future. His dad stops talking to him and his mom won’t stop crying in the bathroom at two in the morning when she thinks nobody’s awake, except he is lying wide awake in bed wondering if perhaps his thirteenth birthday could have passed and he could have kept his mouth shut five years and he wouldn’t be moving to his third high school in the span of two years but he’s too perfect, and a perfect child wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t hide from the truth.

 

Or maybe a perfect child would know to keep his mouth shut.

 

\--

 

“Hello,” he says, voice quiet as he stares down at his shoes. “Nice to meet you all. My name is Kim Seungmin.”

 

His teacher nods and smiles, patting him on the shoulder as she indicates for him to sit down. The kids around him look more bored than wary as he sinks into his seat in the back corner. The girl next to him just gives him a small smile and scoots her pencils over to make more room at the desk, and then everybody is pulling out their books as the teacher begins a new lesson up on the board.

 

Everything seems fine, but Seungmin knows from past experience that this is only the calm before the storm. 

 

And so, four weeks later as he’s dooling music notes and lyrics into the margins of his notebook during a short break between classes, just the last one before the end of the day when he can finally pack up his bags and rush home with his head down, the lightning strikes. 

 

“Fag.”

 

It’s followed by a smack to the back of his head, with a book, a shoe, who knows. When his head thunks forward to the desk, he lays it there for a moment with a small smile on his face, thinking,  _ It looks like they found the posts. _ In this day and age where everybody knows everybody on social media, it seems Seungmin’s secret is getting harder to keep. But he doesn’t mind that much anymore.

 

He just pulls his head back up with a tight smile plastered across his lips and says, “Sorry guys.”

 

A few of the other boys in the class laugh at him while the girls shake their heads in disgust. Luckily, before they can do much more, the teacher walks back in and the students settle back down. 

 

Seungmin knows, though, that the thunder will follow not long after.

 

Later, as he gathers up his books to pack up and run home, avoiding the wrong alleyways in case anybody tries to jump him (for the good of  _ society _ ), he finds a crinkled note tucked between pages of his folders. 

 

Slowly, and warily, he opens it up, preparing himself to read a message in red ink telling him to leave, to get out of here, that he’s contagious or has AIDs, but instead, he sees purple ink in a pretty and shimmering script that he recognizes from the notes of the girl at the desk next to him. 

 

“Don’t worry about them. They’re just being mean. I know you’re not really like  _ that _ .”

 

Somehow, this note hurts him more.

 

\--

 

Perhaps the lightning struck closer than Seungmin realized because the thunder follows not long after. Or maybe it was the note that was a trap that got him to linger just a moment too long so that he couldn’t escape, disguised in the throng of students moving away and out from the prison of school like a terrified herd of sheep.

 

Or maybe it’s really only Seungmin that feels that way as the fists and feet rain down on his back and his face where he lies curled up on the ground, unwittingly and unwillingly begging, “I’m sorry, please, save me.”

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it will stop, that most kids aren’t cruel enough to go as far as to murder but regardless of that, the fact of the matter is that it hurts in the moment and it stings his pride where he has none left. When they’ve all gone and left after spitting on him one last time until all that remains is the dust settling around him, he continues to lie there, body stiff and heart bleeding until the sun starts to set and his mother probably worries in the distance but can’t tell him to come home out of fear of what his father might - or rather, might not do. 

 

But there’s still a small part of him, still there, living and breathing in his mind that tells him he’s alive, the sky is still blue, the sand is still yellow, and together they make green, green grass so he needs to get up, he needs to smile more, he needs to show the world that he’s not an abomination for knowing how to share love more so he picks himself up and dusts himself off and walks over to a coffee shop tucked in a street corner where he can hide and do work until the wolf is asleep. 

 

\--

 

Over the next few months, it becomes a routine to sit in that coffee shop and reflect, and Seungmin thinks that this school is just a tiny bit more open, more liberal than the past two he’s been running from because after that first beating, there’s only a few more, spread out thin across a month, and maybe his standards are lower but that’s okay, because it means that he has standards at all.

 

The girl next to him still tries to smile and slip him Bible verses when she can as if that will help him feel any better about himself in any way whatsoever, and Seungmin can’t help but feel a little bit abused and used and just overall unloved. Still, she’s just about his only friend these days, if he can even call her that, so he takes her smiles even though it hurts and he lets her copy his notes so that she can go and share it with the rest of the class.

 

It’s hard being an outcast, but Seungmin is smart and somewhere inside he expected this when he first spoke those words and let the whole world know he was a target to shoot at, so he carries on firmly and plans to survive at this school until they force him out, or at the very least until he can get out to a bigger and better place in life. 

 

\--

 

One day before class begins, the girl next to him has her ear buds in until she startles for some reason, dropping her phone and ripping the cord out of the jack. It blasts a voice that Seungmin recognizes himself from listening to it for hours on end and as the other students giggle, he hands the phone back to her, he asks, “Isn’t this Stray Kids?”

 

She nods and says, “Yeah, do you listen to them, too?” and suddenly they’re talking and Seungmin realizes that he misses this, this human interaction and that maybe the torture of silence is worse than the beatings, so he laps it up like a starved and thirsty dog even if he’s spilling his muddy mange into Jesus’ holy water. 

 

But then the teacher walks in and class starts and Seungmin is fully ready to cherish that bit of conversation and have it feed him over into the next couple of years of his solitary life, because why would a girl like that ever want to talk to a guy like him again?

 

Seungmin finds, however, that as smart as he is, individual humans are unpredictable and peculiar things. 

 

After class, Seungmin wanders his way over to the coffee shop where the baristas have seen him enough times to recognize his order and begin whipping it up right away. Just as he’s about to take a seat to wait for his drink to be finished, the bell chimes as a person walks in and he looks up on reflex to see it’s his desk partner. 

 

He’s fully ready to look away and give up this safe haven for another, even more difficult to find place, when she makes eye contact with him and smiles, making a beeline over to his seat. 

 

“Hey, Seungmin, do you mind if I sit with you?” she asks in that sweet, childish voice of hers. He can’t do much but nod, and be mildly uncomfortable as she settles her stuff down before going to get a drink herself. There’re an awkward few moments of silence until she sits up and takes a breath and says, “I just want to say that I think it’s really rude that kids are making fun of you for liking a boy group. Just because you like a boy group, doesn’t mean you’re gay, you know?”

 

And then, Seungmin realizes that maybe he did misunderstand just a little, in the same way that this girl misunderstood, too. But, as he said, he’s a hungry, stray dog looking for the smallest pat of affection, and although the chance to explain hovers just ahead of him, he can’t speak out and tell the truth, because as much as he puts on a brave front, he’s not sure how much longer he can live like this. 

 

So he takes the bait and runs with it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

The girl smiles and then jumps up saying, “You wait, I’ll grab our drinks,” when the buzzer rings and Seungmin is just left there dazzled. 

 

And suddenly, this girl, Nancy is her name, Seungmin later learns by peeking at the scrawl on her cup, has inserted herself into his routine. 

 

At first, he thinks he’ll be more uncomfortable, but then as they talk, he picks up on little things about her that remind him of himself, or at least what he used to be.

 

She’s pretty, and nice, and tries her best to talk to everybody in their class no matter their popularity, and does her work to the best of her abilities. She goes to church once a week, and sometimes more than once. 

 

They bond over their shared love of music, and Nancy confides that she actually wanted to talk to him because she’s found it hard to come across fans who stan idols of their same gender, confessing that she’s actually in love with this one group, Momoland, she thinks Hyebin is the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. 

 

And Seungmin wonders, but doesn’t intrude because he can’t help but wonder that maybe he’s reaching, maybe it’s nothing and he’s just projecting.

 

Still, he laughs and says that he loves Hyunjin from Stray Kids and wants to be just like him, and Nancy nods in agreement. 

 

“I actually really wanted to be a singer when I was younger,” Seungmin confides. 

 

“Me, too! But not anymore?” she asks, eyes wide with genuine interest, kindness, and curiosity. 

 

When Seungmin shakes his head no, he can see that she wants to ask why, but he changes the conversation quickly, afraid to say that an idol with a past like his wouldn’t make it far. “So, I heard that Hyunjin is going to be on Show Me the Money soon! What do you think?”

 

And she accepts the change and they move on to discussing whether Mnet will do their devil’s editing tricks on him to make him look as bad as they have everybody else that falls into their trap. 

 

It’s comforting, and it’s nice, but it’s not quite enough because as much as Seungmin enjoys the company once again, he feels like a fraud when he goes home on days like these when he times it wrong and as he beeps open the door, his mom rushes to the front of the house and shushes him as he comes in, saying, “Your father is…” 

 

She can’t finish the sentence, because they’re not a normal family. Seungmin completes it for her. “Awake?”

 

She just nods sadly and lets Seungmin scurry to his room to hide until the beast is asleep.

 

\--

 

He thinks that maybe he should tell Nancy, because they’ve become close friends as they sit together and watch Hyunjin make his way through the ranks, commenting on the one underground rapper, Seo Changbin, as he ends up showing up in the clips that have Hyunjin in them, too. But, even as the guilt eats away at him, the fear is worse, maybe more so because now he knows the consequences of the truth, he knows that it hurts more than he might be able to handle for a second time. 

 

So when Nancy invites him over to binge watch Show Me the Money together, and then Momoland videos, he accepts the religious iconography littered around the living room and skirts around awkward questions as Nancy’s mother tries to decide if they really are “just friends” because God forbid that a male and a female be anything other than intimate and romantic lovers.

 

And as they sit there side by side, Seungmin points to the rapper that goes right before Hyunjin’s audition and says, “He’s really good,” to which Nancy wholeheartedly agrees. 

 

But then a couple of episodes down the line, when Seungmin watches the two hug on stage and spies a little butt pat, he giggles and says, “They seem close. Do you reckon they’ve got something special going on?”

 

It’s a joke, but Nancy wrinkles her nose and says, “No, that’s weird.”

 

So Seungmin just nods, “Oh, okay,” and continues watching in silence.

 

But then Nancy speaks up, and she’s not looking at the screen anymore, but at her hands as she picks at the edges of her shirt. “Right? It is weird, isn’t it?”

 

Seungmin stays silent, but maybe that’s worse than speaking up. Just as he takes a breath to say something, anything, Nancy laughs it off and says, “Whatever, this is boring. Let’s watch some music videos.”

 

And Seungmin lets the incident pass, ignoring the strain in her laugh and ignoring the way that her eyes are glued to the screen as they watch girl group videos that Seungmin couldn’t be less interested in. 

 

\--

 

Later, Seungmin wonders if maybe she needs a friend, somebody to accept her so that they can hold her and tell her that it’s okay, it’s not weird, but then it’s revealed to him before he can even ask. 

 

He’s just heading behind the buildings during gym class so he can hide from the other boys that still think it’s funny to spit on him and throw their balls at him - as if that isn’t gay entirely. He thinks he’s safe for the moment, so he’s completely zoned out, head in the clouds as he turns the corner until he looks up and sees…

 

Nancy. 

 

But. She’s not alone. Pushing her up against the brick wall, clutching her sides is another girl, and when Seungmin gasps loudly, she turns around, hair whipping behind her and smacking Nancy in the face, who still has yet to realize and giggles, pure, innocent and in love as she says, “Ow, Dabin, what was that for.” But then slowly, as Dabin doesn’t answer, Nancy’s giggles die away as she peeks out from behind and finally sees Seungmin standing there, mouth agape. 

 

“Oh, my goodness,” Nancy says, still refusing to take the Lord’s name in vain even at a time like this. She sinks to the floor, and Dabin looks like she just doesn’t know what to do, head turning, back and forth, back and forth, from Seungmin to Nancy and back to Seungmin, before finally she turns and runs, leaving Nancy where she is, collapsed against the brick wall. 

 

Finally, Seungmin moves, slowly easing out of his shock and approaches Nancy, sliding down himself until they’re sitting side by side. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, but still she flinches under his touch. 

 

“You… you can’t tell anybody,” Nancy whispers. 

 

“I won’t,” he promises, and he keeps it.

 

\--

 

It turns out it doesn’t matter, though, whether or not he keeps his promise, because Dabin tells her friend, Joowon, and Joowon really can’t help it that she has such a talkative personality, but it ends up spreading all over the school like wildfire. 

 

Dabin isn’t one to care much, with a strong personality to match strong visuals, and hasn’t been considered such a good student in the first place, but Nancy… Watching Nancy fall is like watching himself a few years ago, he imagines, as her head droops lower, and where already she wasn’t considered the most popular, she’s now absolutely ostracized. 

 

Dabin moves on, and laughs it off as a phase, glaring at anybody who tries to tell her otherwise, and begins to join the crowd that shuns Nancy, and Nancy…

 

One day, Nancy shows up to school with a bruise on her face and a tight smile stretched thin across her face. When Seungmin tries to ask her what’s wrong, she asks, “What are you talking about?” and doesn’t answer again. 

 

She doesn’t come back to school after that day, and Seungmin realizes that he never told her. 

 

He never told her that it was okay, that he was the same way, that it doesn’t really get better yet but that they had to push through and live on to make it a better world for the other people like him and her one day. 

 

\--

 

Seungmin is alone again, and somehow it’s worse the second time. Now that Nancy’s gone, the kids turn their eyes and their words and their fists back on him, except when they’re not beating on him they give him a wide berth, accusing him of being contagious, for being the reason that Nancy became that way. 

 

He has nowhere to turn, so he turns toward himself, looking inward as he sits at the same coffee shop day after day, waiting for night to fall so he can sneak back in at home. 

 

One day, he’s sitting there humming along to the melody that plays over the speakers when the door chimes and another customer walks in. On reflex, he turns to look even though he knows it’s been months since he last saw Nancy, but the person that stands there somehow manages to shock him even more. 

 

After the customer settles down, Seungmin waits a few minutes, deliberating before finally, he convinces himself to stand up and walk over slowly, bowing quickly when they make eye contact. “Hi, oh my gosh, I’m sorry to intrude, it’s just that I’m a huge fan, could I possibly get an autograph?”

 

He smiles, and there’s that goddamn eye smile, Seungmin’s entire gay awakening except here and in the flesh, a certain Hwang Hyunjin of the boy group Stray Kids. “Of course,” he says happily, “Do you have pen and paper? I’m afraid I’ve only got this napkin on me at the moment.”

 

Seungmin, ever the prepared student, pulls out his fancy notebook paper and hands over a pen and watches as Hyunjin whips out the most elegant autograph he’s ever seen. He pauses, pen hovering over the paper and then looks up at Seungmin and he’s just so close that Seungmin gasps, stepping back. 

 

“Who should I make this out to?” he asks with a gentle smile, and Seungmin is just about sure that his heart melts a little bit. 

 

“S-seungmin,” he stutters out, voice shaking. 

 

“So it is for you!” Hyunjin says with a small chuckle/

 

“I’m sorry?” Seungmin asks, confused.

 

Hyunjin just shrugs, capping the pen and pushing the piece of paper back over to Seungmin. “It’s just that we don’t get very many male fans, so I was excited. Sorry if that was weird,” he says, and Seungmin thinks in his head,  _ Literally, nothing you do could be weird _ . 

 

Out loud, he says, “Oh, yes.” He doesn’t really know what else to say in this moment, just staring at Hyunjin’s smile until suddenly it’s turning down into a frown.

 

“What song is this?” he asks, and Seungmin startles. 

 

“What?”

 

“I’m sorry, that was incredibly rude. It’s just, this song. I’ve been hearing it everywhere but I can’t seem to figure out where I recognize the voice from,” he continues, frown creasing his eyebrows. Somehow, even with this grimace marring his face, Seungmin finds him beautiful. 

 

“Oh, it’s Changbin. Seo Changbin, he was on Show Me the Money with you earlier this year,” Seungmin says. 

 

“Oh. Seo Changbin. Yes, I see,” Hyunjin answers. 

 

Seungmin would have loved to keep up a conversation, but at this point he can tell that Hyunjin’s mind is far away, floating in the distance, so he takes back his pen and paper and makes his way over to his table. 

 

The conversation brings back to mind the time when he and Nancy had been watching the show together, and he remembers how he had jokes about “something special” between the two of them, but now he wonders if perhaps that wasn’t entirely a joke. Maybe he’s projecting, but then again last time with Nancy… It turned out he was right, although he isn’t sure if it was worth the consequences. 

 

Out of curiosity, and with most of his homework already completed but with plenty of time to spare, Seungmin goes to Naver and searches up “Seo Changbin”. He mindlessly scrolls down all of the articles that talk about the new up and coming R&B voice of Korea until it’s back a few years ago, all the way to three years ago when it wasn’t “Seo Changbin” but SpearB. 

 

Seungmin has never particularly been into rap, but when he finds a SoundCloud link that hasn’t been updated in a year or so, he clicks on it expecting to hear the usual sex, money, drugs kind of rap that usually comes with SoundCloud rappers. Instead, he’s pleasantly surprised to find lyrics that he relates to. Some of the songs are stronger, much stronger by far than the singles that play on the radio that veer into the edge of poppy, but there are a few that are soft, sentimental, delicate even. 

 

Seungmin imagines himself swaying on a dance floor to the beats, unafraid to slow dance with a guy that he loves as they parade each other down school hallways, unashamed to hold hands and show their compassion. Unknowingly, tears drip down his cheeks as he wonders if maybe in future generations, this will be a possibility that is in reach for South Korea, as he mourns the fact that this isn’t a present that he’ll be able to live and love in. 

 

As the track slows and then dims to silence, Seungmin wipes off his face and goes to pack up his bags. As he heads out into the nighttime, he turns and sees that Hyunjin is still sitting there at the table, in the same position as he had been when Seungmin had left him. On the radio, another one of Seo Changbin’s songs plays and Seungmin sees for a moment that Hyunjin is mouthing along lyrics that don’t quite match up to what’s playing out loud. 

 

He shakes his head, thinking that he must be imagining things before turning and heading out into the darkness.

 

\--

 

It takes a few weeks of listening before he suddenly sits up ramrod straight in the middle of class, realizing just exactly why these songs, these lyrics ring so true to him, deep down into his very soul. His teacher throws him a glare but there’s not much he can do because he’s already bent back over his desk, scribbling away like ever the studious writer taking meticulous notes.

 

Except he’s not. He’s got one earbud plugged into his ear, hidden down his sleeve discreetly as he scratches away, attempting to transcribe the lyrics as fast as he hears them. 

 

_ your warm hands _

 

_ dance around my waist _

 

_ Calvin Klein cologne _

 

_ curls around my face like mist _

 

The lyrics go on and on, and Seungmin realizes that he’s listening to a male voice describe what could possibly be his very own male crushes throughout life. 

 

It’s maybe one of the first same sex love songs he’s heard by a mainstream artist, in his own language at that, and regardless of the fact that these aren’t the lyrics that are currently charting on Melon at the moment, a little seed starts to blossom somewhere within his chest. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he won’t have to wait for grandchildren or great-grandchildren, but that he might be able to achieve his dreams within a lifetime without projecting it on to future generations. 

 

And so, with no friends, no family who willingly talks to him, and no love to be found, this becomes his sole obsession. He can’t necessarily help it, because right now he’s just looking for a lifeline, anything to hold on to. 

 

He’s always liked literature, so it’s easy to overanalyze, tear it apart line by line, word by word, treating rap lyrics like poetry because once you strip away the beats, the music, the bars, it’s really no different from Emily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, or even - and maybe especially - Yun Hyunseok. 

 

There’s love and emotion and protest and callouts to society. It’s like enduring a war from a battlefield with no cover, and as Seungmin underlines and marks and circles each word, he feels a stab in his chest because these lyrics hurt to read, only because they reflect the same pain that he has known for a third of his life, and he knows that this percentage will only grow the longer he lives. 

 

But there are reprieves, as well, moments when the song isn’t heavy and dark and doesn’t make his heart pound in fear but rather it’s light and graceful, flirting in his ears just this way and that, enough to make his heart flutter instead of quake. It’s still painful, but a slightly more comforting pain, when your mother kisses your knee better after you’ve fallen off of your bike.

 

These are the songs that make Seungmin cry harder because even after all he’s been through, his heart is still tender and open and waiting to be accepted; he doesn’t even think to hope so far as loved.

 

So later, when he falls to the ground, maybe as a result of somebody pushing him from behind, he’ll know the reason was because his head was lost in the clouds and the stars and he thought that he could look at the sun again without feeling guilty only to realize that the world hasn’t changed just quite yet. His earbuds rip out of his ears and the speakers are suddenly blasting into the middle of the road for one short second, one last reassurance before a car, horn blasting, runs over his phone and crushes it, killing the music with it. 

 

His phone isn’t the only casualty, and his knees are the least of his worries as his backpack rips open and scatters pencils, pens, books, and paper all over the streetside as the boys around him whoop and holler. Somebody gathers them up and holds them out to Seungmin, face gentle and kind and so Seungmin trusts him, smiles back because perhaps Spear B’s words have managed to soften him, only to see that hiding behind an angelic face is a demon as the boy’s friends whistle and howl like a pack of dogs, “Ew, Yang Jeongin, don’t let the fag touch you, I heard he’s contagious!”

 

And so Jeongin looks down, smile flipping inside and out to reveal a sneer, half disgust and half panic, pulling back his hand full of pens only to hurtle back and throw them in Seungmin’s face. “Go… go away, you’re disgusting.” He spits on the ground and turns away. 

 

Another boy in the crowd makes a show of picking up the papers on the ground, shuffling them together until they’re stacked nice and neat before he rolls it up and smacks the pile against Seungmin’s head with a cackle, waving it in front of his eyes. “Thanks for the homework, homo.”

 

Seungmin wants to stand up, rip the pages of lyrics he’s been laboring over out of their hands, would rather burn the sheets one by one than have them fall into the wrong hands, but he’s weak as he sits there on the pavement.

 

It’s like trying to erase pencil with pencil. The eraser on the back has all been worn away, enough second thoughts and misguided choices to last a lifetime.

 

Laughing, they run off, taking all physical traces of Spear B with them. 

 

It’s disheartening, but Seungmin realizes that it’s about time he learn to get used to it.

 

\--

 

Coffee is so bitter, Seungmin realizes as he sits in the food court of a mall nearby his school. But the college life is draining, so he makes a face and gulps it down as fast as he can before attempting to wash out the bitterness with a bite of a donut. It’s soggy and equally gross, and Seungmin just sighs before stretching in his chair. 

 

He’s about to get up and throw away the remaining half of his donut when he learns that memories are even more bitter. 

 

“Hey, you’re Seungmin, aren’t you?”

 

It’s soft, and lightly accented, and leaves a sour taste in the back of Seungmin’s mind when he tries to recall where he knows it from. “No,” he says, moving forward and dumping his trash. 

 

“Wait,” the voice calls out. “I know you’re Seungmin,” he says, catching ahold of Seungmin’s sleeve.”

 

Finally, he takes a deep breath and turns around, eyes alight with fire. “You should let go of me, I hear I’m contagious.”

 

Jeongin takes a step back, a rueful smile on his face. “Nah. I already caught it.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Jeongin just laughs to ease the awkward tension in the air, and Seungmin is reminded of the ghost of an angel he once saw in his face. Suddenly, a hand is outstretched in his direction and when Seungmin looks down at it quizzically, Jeongin smiles that wide smile of his, saying, “I wanted to apologize.”

 

“It’s been almost a year, you know.”

 

“I know. But still. You gave me courage.”

 

Seungmin notices that Jeongin’s braces are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. if u look at the comments i might have replied little alternate scenes that i wrote on some of other people's comments lmao if yall r curious
> 
> anyway.... remember mrs. kim? yeah. i meant to have it continue and explain things but this was very confusing and yeah
> 
> chan pov coming.... soon? maybe 
> 
>  
> 
> anyway happy early birthday jamie pt. 2 i snuck in a lil bit of seungjin for u sorry this is a mess heh

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps, to be continued...
> 
> find me on [[twitter](https://twitter.com/2jaepg)] and [[tumblr](http://busanjeongin.tumblr.com/)]!  
>  **kudos and comments always appreciated!!!** catch me doing a literary analysis on my own damn fic because yes i am that hoe xoxo  
>   
> 
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